Wildcard Quilts

ALERT: Jackspeak

Since this fiasco occurred in our home, Jack has matured. We recently started allowing him to use grown-up scissors for certain cutting tasks. But then, one day, I carelessly left them out in plain view. Jack quickly reverted back to his three-year-old ways.

Of course, I had to capture the five-year-old fiasco on film.

In totally unrelated news, our little family has been talking about recycling a lot lately. To cut costs. To cut the environment some slack. To cut into our creativity and let it the heck out. Lotta cutting around here.

Me: "Geez, Jack. You've had that costume for so long, you've loved it so much. Now it's ruined. We might as well throw it in the garbage."

Jack: "What?"

"Yeah, we might as well throw it away. You can't even find the legholes or armholes to put your legs and arms in anymore. It's just full of holes!"

"No, mom, no. Please don't, please don't throw it away."

"Well, what are you going to do with it?"

"Um, I dunno. But please don't throw it away."

[Jack pauses to make sure he's covered his bases. Then he remembers one more base.]

"And please don't recycle it. NO recycling."

Funny to hear and see how five-year olds take new information and apply it to their daily lives.

ALERT: Jackdo

Okay, I admit it. We have a TV. And we use it. I monitor how much, but I'm not ashamed to admit we excitedly anticipate our favorite shows. For the adults? Dexter, Breaking Bad, and 30 Rock. For the boys? Mostly just Signing Time. Unless, of course, you count every superhero show on every cartoon-type network out there. So, that would be, um, Spiderman, Batman, Ironman, the Justice League, TMNT, and others, in every incarnation available. (I think Batman has like, six or seven different shows: Batman the Animated Series, Batman Beyond, Batman: The Brave and the Bold. On and on. Holy franchise, Batman.)

And for the whole family? American Idol. Every year. Every show.

Of course, I'm all about moderation. TV is fun, but so are lots of other things. So, we negotiate a little each day. And as Jack recently practiced writing his letters, I finally saw proof that we don't ONLY watch the superhero shows. We also watch our fair share of the glorified educational stuff.

Yep. Along with Ironman: Armored Adventures, we think Reading Rainbow rocks, too.

Five years.

For those of you who have been following along for awhile, I need to tell you something incredible that happened this month. Jack turned five years old. FIVE. YEARS. OLD. I am officially the mama of a five year old. I'm feeling quite proud.

Jack, you have grown so much this past year. In shoe and shirt sizes, yes. But also in your mind and in your heart. You have transformed from a pant-leg hugging, bashful soul into a social butterfly who will walk right up to a new person, look them straight in the eye with a smile, and say, "Hi, I'm Jack!"

That's huge. Not even I can do that. And I'm 37.

You are gentle and thoughtful and helpful with Charlie, your little brother. You often introduce him to others by simply saying, "This is my baby." Yes. Just as much as ours, he is yours. And you his.

You have become intensely inquisitive, asking me questions I need to open a dictionary to answer. Being shrouded in the throes of mamahood and babyhood these past few years, I thank you for getting my mind back up on its feet. I've been in a fog. You are making me think again. It's a good thing.

One of my favorite changes in you during the past year? Your facial expressions. Coming from a family of many deaf people (hereditary, on my side), you have effortlessly learned the art of communication through animation. In your hands, in your feet, in your face. You are expressing yourself visually. And it's all quite convincing. You can convey emotions ranging from satisfied to terrified just with a tiny squint or widening of your big blue eyes.

(Oh, and let's not forget that this year Jack learned to cross his eyes. Always used to express excitement. Silly excited. Makes me think we should all cross our eyes when we're excited. Try it sometime. Really. It will take your excitement to a whole new level.)

This year I put together a special birthday party for you, with art as the theme:

The invitation.

There was quite a bit of party preparation on my part: 

Testing of projects, collecting of materials . . .

Calling of other mamas to make sure their kids could come.

And then party day came. 

There was painting of shirts . . .

Collaging of frames . . .

Painting of paper (a keepsake for Jack) . . .

Tracing of bodies . . .

And decorating of cupcakes, too.

I think some people wondered why I went to all the trouble. I mean, I worked on your party for a month. It was a two-hour long party. And I worked on it for a MONTH. Why? Why, mama, why?

I'll tell them why, Jacky. Because you turned FIVE. Because you are wonderful. Because I want you to always remember what it was like to be five. I hope you will always remember.

I have a feeling you will never forget.

Inauguration art

During our own little inaugural celebration today, a crayon portrait of the new first family was created:

I offered to tape the portrait in our front window. Jack insisted that instead, we send it to President Obama. And so we will.

Hope, personified. Here in our home. Happy inauguration day. Happy day.

Every day is Halloween 'round here . . .

. . . meaning every day is a day for dress up. As evidenced here and here, and over there, and right here. Yep, Jack's a dresser-upper. And if you've been following along, you know that superheroes have been what his dress-up is all about. But Jack shocked me this year when I asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween. Batman? Superman? The Green Goblin?

Nope. This year he wanted to be a sheriff. And so he was.

Ready to walk out the door for trick or treating. (Yep, that's already a smudge of chocolate on his chin.)

Now, mind you, this wasn't any old sheriff. After many, many questions about the purposes, personalities, and whereabouts of bandits throughout the month of October ("Mom, are there bandits living in Kaysville?"), Jack decided to be a BANDIT sheriff.

The bandit and the sheriff. The good guy and the bad guy, melded together as one. The lawmaker and the lawbreaker, one and the same. Two of Jack's favorite fantasy worlds colliding, one swallowing the other and vice versa.

Strange, I thought. At first. But with so, so many costumes to choose from--with so, so many roles he might play--why wouldn't he choose to be the best AND the baddest? He found a way to include the full spectrum of his imagination and play. Just couldn't choose between hero and villian.

Don't we all feel that way sometimes?

So I give you Jack the bandit AND Jack the sheriff. And no sheriff or bandit would be complete without a sidekick. So I give you Charlie the cow:

Earlier in the week, at another costumed event.

Charlie's been saying "ma, ma, ma" a lot these days. I thought that sounded a bit like "moo," so the cow costume was chosen. During trick or treating, however, Charlie sang "ba, ba, ba" around the neighborhood. Sounded much more like a sheep than a cow. Sorry, little Charlie. We'll choose your costume together next year, huh?

Happy belated Halloween, everyone!

Jackdo: Rock, Rock, Rock-n-Roll Preschool

The stage is set. (With a Spidey blankee and a receiving blanket.) Audience seating has been carefully positioned--prime front-row seats in the form of bouncers, Bumbos, and playgyms. The music? Pure rock-n-roll. The venue? Kaysville, Utah, living room.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing the preschool-sized sensation who named his one-man band . . . THE ROCK AND ROLL SOCK.

He begins his set with a soulful rhythm. His number two fan, thrilled to have snagged a chance to experience the show from the first row, pounds his hands and feet to the beat. Almost. (Number one fan is behind the camera.)


As The Rock and Roll Sock launches into an intricate guitar solo, number two fan looks on in infantile amazement. He is speechless. Obviously.


Rock-and-roll attire perfected (two different socks, Angus Young-style shorts, and no shirt), one final chord is held until the crowd of two is in a stupor.

I missed some of my favorite artists breezing through Utah this year because of being a new mom, again. Erykah Badu and John Mayer, specifically. But The Rock and Roll Sock just made my summer music experience complete. Jacky, rock on.

On Polaroid: pictures #3 and #4

I haven't kept up with posting about Jack's photo-taking adventures like I had hoped, but I have kept my promise to him to find a special something to take a picture of once a week. Time to catch up here.

Photo #3: Around the House

Jack decided on this particular day that it was picture-taking time. But it was evening, and baby Charlie was fussing, so we couldn't go far. No matter. "Let's find something to take a picture of in our yard!" Jack said. So we went searching.

We looked at rocks, we looked at plants and trees and bushes. We looked on the deck, on the patio. Front stoop. Back hollow. Nope. Then, in the backyard, Jack's eyebrows rose. "I know!" He dashed into the front yard and stood in front of our entryway door. "That," he said, pointing.

"That" is a wired and jeweled star that hangs to the left of our front door. I found it at our local thrift store for seventy-five cents. It's kind of weird. I love it. The hook on the house holds holiday items from time to time, but during most of the year the star is the star. I love that Jack thought to take a picture of it even when it was nowhere near his view. That means--for better or worse--it's memorable.

Photo #4: In the House

In our living room we have a large cabinet that holds my husband's strange little musical instruments--a tabla drum, small bongos, rain sticks, and two American Indian flutes. When inspired, Brett goes to the cabinet, picks up an instrument, and treats us to some beautiful, new-agey music. On this day, Brett was at work. "Can I see Daddy's flute?" asked Jack. I took it out of its handmade carrying case (which Brett made just for this flute) and told Jack to be very careful. He held it cautiously for a moment, and then took it into his room and announced that he wanted to take a picture of it on his throw rug.

 

And so he did.

Each time Jack takes a picture, it's the same technique--he finds the subject in the viewer, then holds the entire camera a good six inches from his face. Snap. Seems to be working pretty well so far.

Jack recently wanted to take a picture of two women jogging by our house in tight spandex tops. I waited just long enough for them to jog past the neighbor's house before I answered. "Oops, too fast for us," I shrugged. Jack bought it. For now.

Time for another photo-taking adventure soon, maybe this afternoon. Let's hope for pretty flowers, a bird's nest, a butterfly resting. Or perhaps a pair of old and portly man joggers.

ALERT: Jackdo

During a reorganization of the 1,982 magnets on the fridge (along with a few egg shapes that were cut, colored, and taped on the fridge back around Easter), Jack randomly lines up letters . . .

Is he subliminally telling me it's time to sew again? I think yes.

ALERT: Jackdo

Most mornings when Jack wakes up, he says good morning. And then he says, "Will you play guys with me?" "Play guys" means we both choose a superhero action figure and begin acting out made-up stories with them. I like to say yes when I can. I get a kick out of the stories that emerge. This particular morning, the story turned unusually domestic. Starring Jack as Wonder Woman and me as a little-known superhero named Bishop . . .

Jack (as Wonder Woman): "Hi Bishop. It's me, Wonder Woman. I love you. I love you, so I want to marry you."

Me (as Bishop): "You do? Well, alright then."

A small, sweet ceremony is played out on the living-room couch. The superheroes even smooch.

Wonder Woman: "Now we need a home."

Bishop: "Well, I just happen to have built one for us right over here."

"Cool. Now we need to have a baby."

"Oh, a baby? Hmm. Um . . . what should we name our baby?"

"Um . . . well, we already had our baby. And now he's all growed up. And his name is Wolverine!"

 
That was fast. We now have an adult child. With claws, even.

Domesticity ends. The typical superhero story kicks back in. But this time we have the additional tag-team luck of married superheroes . . .

"Bishop, do you hear a bad guy in our house?"

Dream child

Okay, there are the unbelievable messes on an almost daily basis. Unexplainable outbursts here and there. And the occasional horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day. But all in all, we've got a funny, happy, creative kid in Jack. The kind of kid that gets a sloppy smooch and a monster of a hug after a viewing of Supernanny. Sometimes, I feel like we're doing some things right.

Before Jack came along we decided to create a family bed, so he's slept with us since the day he was born. About a month ago, however--with a new baby soon to be vying for his own spot in the family bed--we figured we'd try to move Jack to his own big-boy bed to save some squishing. During the first week, he came back into the family bed twice. Since then, he's slept all night in his own bed. Isn't it great when you expect the worst and then experience the best?

The view from the head of Jack's new bed.

What we didn't know is that the whole experience would get even better over the coming weeks. Cut to our new nightly conversation . . .

Jack: "I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed."

The Parents: "Jack, it's too early for bed. Stay up for a bit, come snuggle on the couch. You want a cookie or something?"

"No. Good night."

Jack hops on the potty, turns on the bathroom nightlight, and retires to his bedroom after turning on his star lights at the foot of his bed, above. Shortly thereafter, a loud, demanding voice rings out to The Parents from said bedroom:

Jack: "Somebody tuck me in!"

The Parents: "Jacky, it's really too early for bed. Come in the living room, stay up a little longer."

"But I'm SOOOOO SLEEPY. COME TUCK ME IN!"

"Okay, OKAY! Coming."

After a proper tuck in, The Parents convene in the living room.

Parent #1: "Did you hear him begging to go to bed? How did we DO that?"

Parent #2: "I have no idea."

Parent #1: "We are the envy of all the parents of the world. Let us sit on our couch, watch a rerun of Dexter, and allow our chests to swell with pride over our boy."

Parent #2: "Yes. Let's."

No "time for bed!" fights. No "I need a drink of water I need another story I need a song I need I need I need . . ." You know, the kind of stuff you hear about that could easily take up the last waking moments (or more) of your day.

Bedtime bliss. I know, I know--while it lasts. But bedtime bliss nonetheless.

I'm sure the restful nights will soon end with little Tie-Dye on the way ANY. DAY. NOW. (I'm now nine months and three days pregnant. I am done counting.) But with this post, I have documented that this sleep pattern DID exist. When we are deep in the throes of sleepless nights with two young boys, I hope I remember to read this post as a reminder. To help me believe this scenario could repeat itself someday.

Just a dream, perhaps . . . but I'm not letting this dream die. It could happen again. Couldn't it?